Page 21 of The Bratva King's Auctioned Bride

“What?” I asked, honestly concerned, I was having trouble with my hearing.

“It was well researched, concise, and I think they’ll end up signing the contract,” he said. “You did a great job.”

His smile seemed sincere, and there was no mocking tone to his voice. Could he actually be giving me a compliment?

“Um, then maybe you should give me a reward.”

“What would you like?” he asked.

“Let me go,” I said without hesitation.

The smile faded like it never existed, leaving the terrifying blank face I couldn’t decipher. What was I thinking, throwing around casual remarks like that, just because he’d said something remotely kind?

This man had kidnapped me and put me up for sale. Then, he bought me for himself to make a point to every other powerful man who had been bidding that he was the one who held the most power. Had the most riches. Could take whatever he wanted.

He’d forced me into a marriage in the middle of the night and was now toying with me by letting me think I could carry on with my normal life as if nothing had happened. I couldn’t, not while I was in his clutches.

I lapsed into silence, trying not to let my fear overcome me. Was I going to face a punishment once we were back at the mysterious palace that he knew about but didn’t seem to own? I couldn’t let my guard down again. He wasn’t my friend in any way, shape, or form. He wasn’t my husband, either, no matter what he decreed. I’d make sure he’d pay for that once I was free.

The ride back took less time than I would have wished, and once we were stopped, Arkadi turned to look at me again. I could feel his stare burning a hole through me, and I finally faced him. The smile was back, but with an edge that told me I shouldn’t mess with him.

“As much as I enjoy carrying you, I’m going to give you the opportunity to walk inside on your own.”

“Well, that’s a first,” I said bitterly, opening my car door and looking around.

It was probably a quarter of a mile back to the gates, and besides the olive trees and the hedge maze, it was all open lawn. I wouldn’t make it twenty feet. Probably half that before he tackled me.

“You may not see them, but rest assured, there are more guards here than in Milan,” he told me when I waited too long to make a decision.

I did the only thing I could under the circumstances and trudged across the gravel path and up the steps. Once inside, I didn’t know if I was allowed to go my own way and drifted off toward the stairs, meaning to find a bedroom to lock myself in.

“Come on,” he said without looking back.

“Yes, my lord,” I muttered.

He heard me, turning to throw a grin over his shoulder. “You think I don’t like that? Don’t answer, I can see you don’t care.”

Not daring to cross him, I followed along, filled with uncertainty as he led me through the house and out back. The garden back there was a riot of flowers and fruit trees, with crushed shell paths leading off toward a pool and what looked like a tennis court off in the distance. The scent of citrus fruitwafted over on a hot, humid breeze, and I let my shoulders relax as I breathed it in. Despite the turmoil of not knowing what was happening, the place instantly calmed me somewhat.

Until Arkadi took my hand and guided me through a natural archway of willow trees that opened up to the side of the house in the back. A rough-hewn rock stairway spiraled into what looked like a deep, dark hole.

On the verge of hyperventilating, I tensed, not about to go down those stairs without a fight. This had to be the dungeon I had been fearing. But what was I going to do to stop him from taking me down there? He already warned me the grounds were crawling with guards, and he had easily overtaken me the last time I fled, even with a big head start. I had no gun to hide behind, but I didn’t think Arkadi did either.

He paused, motioning for me to go ahead of him with that inscrutable smile on his face. As soon as we were down there, I’d bash him over the head with the first thing I saw. At the bottom of the stairs was a thick wooden door with wide metal bars across it, exactly like a medieval dungeon. Tears threatened to fall as he swung it inward on surprisingly quiet hinges. Inside were more stairs, and I swayed on my feet until he reached around me and snapped on bright, overhead lights.

We were in a wine cellar. The solid stone walls made the temperature go from the sweltering Roman summer heat to a comfortable chill. While the place was as ancient as the palace, the cellar had been remodeled to have tall modern shelves bursting with different bottles of wine, and several glass-fronted refrigerators hummed quietly behind a bar that was stocked with stemware.

“Go ahead and have a seat,” Arkadi said, impervious to me, almost fainting from relief.

I headed over to the comfortable seating area and sank onto one of the overstuffed couches, trying to get my breathing under control. Not a dungeon, at least not yet.

He pulled out a bottle of champagne from one of the refrigerators and held it up. It was a vintage I recognized all too well from my brother’s restaurant, with a price tag that exceeded most average people’s yearly salaries.

There was no way he cracked that open for a toast.

“Congratulations on a well-deserved victory,” he said, aiming the bottle away from him and easing the cork from the top.

Just like his eyes, just like his mouth and his practiced touch, the sight of his hands mesmerized me. His long fingers were so sure, and the way they eased down the neck of the bottle before pouring us each a glass had me feeling weak in an entirely different way than the fear I was just recovering from.

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